


So Make It Real

by geckoholic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Libraries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin’s a regular at the library Isaac works at - witty, gorgeous and amazingly talented. Also, <em>way</em> out of his league - or so he figures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So Make It Real

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pr1nc3ssp34ch (dallisons)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallisons/gifts).



> Using your AU prompts _sharing a cab with a stranger_ and _libraries_. I hope you like this! :)
> 
> Beta-read by warriorpoodle, who went above and beyond the call of duty to help me polish this. Thank you so much! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Title is from "The Rest You Can Live Without" by Oceanship.

As part time jobs go, the afternoon shift at the public library is a pretty good score. Isaac has never been much of a bookworm, preferred pastimes that kept his body busy as well as his mind – but the money is okay, the old lady who's running the place likes him, and it's not exactly stressful. The college two towns over has its own library, so his customer pool consists mostly of old ladies who had their library cards since the seventies and kids from families who can't afford to buy them all the books they want to read. 

There's one major exception, though. 

Lydia Martin comes in every Friday, pretty much. She's about his age, early twenties, walks past the library on her way home after work (secretary in the municipal building across the street, she told him once) and she doesn't just read for fun, she also reads to learn. While most of the books he lends out are novels and children's books, she gives the history and linguistics sections a good workout. 

This week's pickup is a book about archaic Latin, and he had to transfer it in. It's waiting on his desk, still in the brown wrapping paper it arrived in. She's a little late; normally she comes by around 3 PM at the latest, but now it's almost half past and she hasn't show up yet. 

It's busy for a Friday afternoon. There's a teenage girl making the rounds in the Young Adult section. Mrs Porter, a regular, is filing through books about knitting patterns. Since he's lacking anything else to do, Isaac goes to help her, equipped with a printed list of the books she already borrowed on the topic; she tends to forget that. She's just telling him about the jumper she made for her niece, hand patting his arm excitedly, when Lydia shows up. Her gaze immediately goes to the desk, and she frowns when she finds it empty, looks around. Isaac swallows the urge to wave or gather her attention in some other, equally ridiculous, manner. He does his job, continues to help Mrs Porter riffle through her dated, well-worn knitting books, and only after they've found her one she hadn't tried yet, does he walk back to his desk as calmly as he can. 

Lydia smiles when she spots him, shoulders untensing. “There you are. I'm here to pick up a reprint of Grandgent and Hall's Introduction To –“

“Vulgar Latin,” Isaac jumps in, rounding his desk to produce the book and waving it at her. “I remember.” 

“Of course you do, Isaac. I’m not easily forgettable.” She leans over the desk to take it from him and sign the card, long red curls falling into her face so that she has to tuck them back behind her ear, holding his eyes. The moment goes on just a second too long to be unintentional before her gaze flickers away from him and towards the book in her hands. Carefully, she removes the paper so she can take a peek at the contents. “Thank you.” 

“Just doing my job,” he says, glancing around to make sure Mrs Porter is still out of earshot. He winks at her. “Or at least that’s what my boss would want me to say.” 

She shakes her head, looks up, her grin gaining a slightly suggestive note. “Mr Lahey, are we playing favorites? I’m appalled.” 

Isaac hand comes up to touch his name tag; he instantly regrets the motion, hopes it doesn’t make him seem self-conscious. They’ve been doing this since she first started coming in – harmless flirting, playful and ultimately meaningless. It won’t be going anywhere, and he doesn’t expect it to. “That’s a pretty good impersonation. The facial expression needs work, though – so not strict enough.” He demonstrates, pulling a sourly face that’s got nothing to do with anything his boss would do in reality, but succeeds in making Lydia laugh. 

“Anyway,” she says once she’s done giggling, holding up the book by its spine and waving it before stowing it into her hand bag. “Thanks. Until next time?” 

Isaac nods, and she whirls around and marches away from the desk, her stiletto-heeled shoes clacking on the hardboard floor that's laid out in a path towards to door. He watches her go until Mrs Porter clears her throat next to him and shoves her knitting book across the counter. 

 

***

 

Isaac loves his roommate, he does, but Scott can be a little spacey. He's had his new girlfriend for four months, and he's still stuck in that stage where her name or her voice on the phone or even a damn text sends his mind of track and has him downright sighing with happiness. It's annoying. Also, funny, except for when Scott forgets his simple household duties because he's too busy mooning over Allison. 

“Scott,” Isaac hollers before the door's even fallen shut behind him. “Scott! Where are you? You were supposed to take the trash cans out when you came home, you know I don't get here in time when I'm working. Mr Simmons just chewed me out _again_.”

There's some rumbling behind the closed door to Scott's room, followed by a curse, and laugh that definitely doesn't come from Scott. So he's not alone. What a surprise. Another curse, and then he pokes his head out. “Sorry, I just... I totally forgot that was today. Allison –“ 

“You know what? I think I can fill in the rest,” Isaac says, then sighs at Scott's crestfallen expression. He can't stay mad at him for long, never could, even when they were in college. Lacrosse scholarship, both of them. 

Alison appears behind Scott, does a little wave. “Don't be angry with him. It's my fault.” She laughs. “He was sort of… tied up..” 

She lowers her eyes, and Isaac sees an opportunity. "Sort of, huh? If you're going to make him forget about everything that happens outside of his room – or his bed, I guess – the least you can do is give me details." 

Allison exchanges a slightly panicked glance with Scott, who holds his hands up and gestures for her to just go back inside before he proceeds to glare at Isaac. 

“Spoilsport.” Isaac shrugs. “It's okay, don't worry. Go back to whatever you were doing, and have fun. Even if you won't allow me to live vicariously through you.” 

“Thanks, Isaac.” Scott actually gives him a thumb's up, “I'll get it next time, okay?” 

Isaac waves him off, and the door closes. He's got just enough time to shower and change before he has to head back out – Erica's new band has its first gig tonight, and she'll string him up if he misses it. By the time he's ready to go, it's started to teem down, and he curses as he opens the front door. He was going to walk – the bar is a little far out, but he doesn't mind, would have welcomed the workout – but with that kind of torrential rain... Yeah, no way. There's a taxi stand two blocks away, and that's about as far as he's willing to sprint through the rain tonight. 

In his haste to get out of the downpour, he doesn't notice that there's someone else aiming for the cab just coming up before he runs straight into her. He jumps back, eyes wide and an apology on his lips, when he recognizes her. Lydia. She's wearing a knee-length flowery dress, as unprepared for the rain as he is, holding a newspaper over her head to protect her hair from the rain with one hand and carrying a travel bag with the other, and she's staring at him. 

“Fuck, sorry,” he says, “did I get you?”

She shakes her head, flicks the apology off with a manicured hand. “It's fine. So. I'm sure we can resolve this like amiable adults. Where are you going?" 

“Burton Street. You?” 

“Greyhound station at the edge of town.” She smiles at him, warm and bright and open, not at all like he just bumped into her and nearly made her tumble down into the rain. “They're not far apart, so... shall we? Share, that is.” 

“Yeah.” He smiles back, suddenly aware that he must look like a wet cat. Shit. The cab driver leans out of the window, eyebrows raised, and Isaac runs a hand through his soaked hair, although that probably serves to make things worse. “Sure, why not?” 

They climb in, Lydia's bag between them, and the first couple of minutes pass in silence. He's always felt like he _knows_ her, being privy to her reading habits, but as he's scrambling for something to say, now, away from the library and save, well-trodden conversation topics, he doesn't know what to say. 

Her phone rings – an upbeat pop song he doesn't know off to top of his head, but likes – and she sends him an apologetic glance before she answers it. As she listens to whatever is being said on the other end of the line, her expression darkens, and when she disconnects the call, she's visibly pissed. 

“You okay?” he asks, immediately regretting the question. It's none of his business, but now it's too late. 

She looks him up and down, as if trying to figure out how much to share “I'm fine. My dad canceled on me, but it's hardly surprising.. He's had a lot of _meetings_ since he started seeing his new girlfriend. I'm sure you can do the math.”

Her eyeroll and the way she flips her hair over her shoulder, expression just this side of indifferent gives her way. Isaac’s familiar with faking he’s unbothered. Her pretense is nearly perfect but there are tell-tale signs. From experience he assumes the last thing she’ll want is pity or sympathy, so he decides to change gears instead. 

“So you're free tonight then?? Erica’s band is playing, and I might not be unbiased, but they’re pretty good. Music, drinks, dancing, general fun. The whole package. If you want.” 

“Erica? Girlfriend?” Lydia looks at him through her lashes, her tone teasing. If he didn’t know better, he’d be tempted to think she actually gives a shit about the answer. But, someone like her... Surely she’ll have plenty of options. 

Isaac swallows, shakes his head. “Nah, She’d be offended at the suggestion. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, so."

Head cocked to the side, Lydia appears to consider that, and Isaac thinks about backpedaling. It's not like he's usually shy around women, he's not, but Lydia is... She's different. He’d miss their weekly banter, if he’d screw this up, is the thing. 

While he's busy fretting, Lydia seems to have made her decision. She nods. “Fine. But you better deliver, Isaac - drinks, fun _and_ dancing." .” 

 

***

 

Lydia looks a little misplaced, surrounded by Erica's band members and fans. They're mostly kids fresh out of college and still living in their parents' respective basements, trying to look punk rock and missing by a mile (Boyd, Erica's drummer, is the only other exception) but she seems to be enjoying herself, knocking back shot glasses with them. She shudders after each shot, but she's grinning in a way that lights the whole room. 

“So,” Erica says, elbowing him, “You've been holding out on me. What's the deal with you two? Details, Isaac. Now.” 

He rolls his eyes, shoves at her. His cheeks feel warm and the room is spinning a little; he didn't exactly pass on the shots either. “Nothing. No deal. She's a regular at the library, we ran into each other at the taxi stand – literally – and decided to share. Her plans fell apart so I invited her. That's it.”

And yeah, he can tell Erica didn't buy a word of that. “Sure. Then why are you looking at her like a lovesick teenager?” 

“That's...” Isaac hiccups, shakes his head. Whoa. He has lost his tolerance, he cant recall getting this drunk this fast since Freshman year. Erica moves in to pat him on the back, but he shoves her hand away. “You're wrong. I'm not looking at her like that. You're drunk, leave me alone.” 

Erica levels him a glare. Isaac rolls his eyes and elects to ignore Erica's laugh when his gaze _just happens_ to land on Lydia again. 

 

***

 

The band goes on about an hour and a half later, and the two of them are left to their own devices Everyone's pleasantly plastered, which, according to Boyd, will only serve to improve their performance. Isaac and Lydia settle down by the bar to watch them play. 

A few lines into the second song, Lydia leans over and bumps his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows at her in question. 

“We're having fun and we're drinking,” she says with a mischievous smirk that makes her eyes shine, “so that's two out of three.” 

“Two out of three?” Isaac's parrots, feeling like she skipped a few pages and they're now on entirely different pages of the script to this conversation. 

Lydia sighs, long-suffering, and reaches for his hand. “Dancing, Isaac. The third one is dancing, remember?” 

He does, albeit dimly. There is, however, no way he's going to refuse, and so he goes a long willingly as she drags him onto the dance floor. He's a pretty decent dancer – less skill, more going with the flow, but it mostly ends up looking okay – but whatever she's doing is on another level entirely. She doesn't hold anything in, her body arched as she throws her head back, still idly moving with the beat, and okay. He's always enjoyed her company, brief as it was when she picked up her books at the library, but seeing her like this, open and happy... so maybe he's been nursing a bit of a crush. And now she's standing in front of him, finger crooking in a silent come-on when their eyes meet, and he's not quite sure what he did to deserve it, but he doesn't ever want this night to end. 

The song trickles out, and next thing he knows, Erica's announcing that the next one's for a friend and it's going to be a ballad. Isaac makes a mental not to mix something poisonous into her drink as soon as she's off the stage, but then Lydia's taking his hand again, this time dragging him closer, and the blood lust smooths out into gratitude as she presses her body to his, arms slung around his middle. That's exactly the kind of dancing he has no first clue about, but Lydia guides them both, moving them in slow circles. She's looking up to him, as if she's waiting for something – it's an invitation, he realizes belatedly. Too late; she's already moving her hands up, looking into his eyes as she loops them around his neck and drags him down for a kiss. 

Definitely no poison. In fact, Erica might be due for a fruit basket. 

 

***

 

Another Friday, and this one as slow as it ought to be – Isaac had three customers all afternoon, and one was actually looking for the comic store a few blocks away. He spends most of his time playing Solitaire on the ancient work computer, and, well. Waiting. 

He's two clicks away from making the cards tumble again when the door opens and Lydia saunters into the library. She's smirking, a bit like a cat that got into the cream, and he can't help but grin back. 

“Lydia,” he says. “Anything I can help you with?” 

She leans over the counter, chin propped up on both hands. “Hmm. I have a few ideas.” 

Isaac knows he's supposed to play the game for a little bit, draw this out, but he can't. Not today, not after the week they just spent together; he slept at her place, left when she went to work, and even though they spent mere hours apart he can't _wait_ to be close to her again. Besotted, is what Erica called him, right after indicating that he's practically turned into Scott. If she keeps interfering, he's going to cancel the fruit basket.

He rounds the counter and takes Lydia by the hand, leading her to the section about tax law – not a very popular topic, rarely sought out. His mouth finds hers, then moves lower, scraping his teeth against the delicate skin at her neck. “This what you head in mind?” 

She laughs, and he revels in making her sound like that, vows to keep doing so for as long as she lets him. “It's a start.”


End file.
